


say it again, but this time, mean it

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, Multi, a series of minific tumblr prompts, agender Q ftw, seven flash plus one bonus bond minific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>things you said:</p>
<p>with no space between us,<br/>when you were scared,<br/>when we were under the stars and in the grass,<br/>through your teeth,<br/>at one am,<br/>while we were driving</p>
            </blockquote>





	say it again, but this time, mean it

**Author's Note:**

> I may reblog the post again tomorrow and drum up a few more of these, in which case I'll add a second chapter, but for now! enjoy a selection of Flash minifics, and one Bond minific, just for kicks

**the-warm-beige-color asked: 16 iris/lisa**

_16\. things you said with no space between us_

Lisa’s face is smug, purposefully disaffecting, but she’s standing close enough that Iris can see the cracks in the facade–see her nerves in the tenseness at the corners of her mouth, see her interest in the dilation of her pupils. Their chests brush as Iris sucks in a breath, sets her own mouth in a determined line as she raises one eyebrow.

“You’re going down, Snart,” she says, taking a step back and offering her hand without hesitation.

“Whatever you say, cutie,” Lisa drawls, curls her fingers into Iris’s. “Loser pays for dinner?”

“Winner picks _dessert_ ,” Iris counters, laying careful stress on the last word, and Lisa’s eyes darken further.

“Well, alright then,” Lisa purrs. She taps her thumb back and forth as she continues, “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war…”

(Iris wins, but neither of them lose.)

 

**the-warm-beige-color asked: 18 lisa/cait with scared lisa maybe? idk whichever you feel**

_18\. things you said when you were scared_

Caitlin throws her arms around Lisa and pulls her in tightly, buries her nose in the junction of Lisa’s neck and shoulder–she’s pressed a thousand kisses to this spot, whispered a thousand half-truths without lifting her lips, but right now it’s all she can do to keep the tears from falling out of her eyes.

Lisa’s hands shake as she lifts them to Caitlin’s back, makes soothing noises as she strokes over her hair, gentle, attempting to keep the blood and dirt away from the shining tresses.

“Next time, let Barry help,” Caitlin begs, and she’s lost the battle against the tears. Her chest heaves, and Lisa abandons her efforts to keep Cait clean, instead clings to her just as tightly as she clings to Lisa.

“Of course,” Lisa promises, the lie coming far too easily.

“I can’t lose you,” Cait adds, forceful, and Lisa closes her eyes tightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, next time I’ll let him help.”

(Neither of them are sure if she means it, that time.)

 

**the-warm-beige-color asked: 6 iris/eddie/barry**

_6\. things you said under the stars and in the grass_

Iris is curled against Eddie’s side, her cheek against his chest, one hand curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt–the initial motion had pulled it up slightly, leaving a strip of skin bare, but the night is pleasant, warm with the slightest breeze, and he doesn’t bother to complain.

He runs his fingers idly over her shoulder, tracing nonsense patterns that still somehow feel a lot like “I love you”, and the grass tickles against his neck as he turns his head, trying to find Orion. (It’s the only constellation, other than the Big Dipper, that he knows on sight.)

There aren’t many stars visible–the West house, suburbs or not, is still far too close to Central to abate the light pollution. But Eddie doesn’t really mind, since this night isn’t really about stargazing, anyway.

“Hey, guys–” Barry starts, breaks off when he sees him. He clears his throat, and when Eddie cranes his neck he can see the blush spreading across his cheeks, even in the weak illumination from the porch light. “Um, sorry, I didn’t realize–I’ll just…” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“Stay,” Iris offers,  removes her hand from Eddie’s shirt to pat the grass on her other side. “Yard’s big enough for us all.”

“Uh.” Barry’s eyebrows rise, and Eddie nods his agreement, on the off chance that Barry’s gaze has flicked over to him instead of Iris, and Barry blows out a breath. “Yeah, sure.”

He settles down, carefully, and Iris rolls flat onto her back so she can curl an arm around each of them.

(They don’t say much else, but really, there’s not much else to say.)

 

**dragdragdragon asked: iris/lisa. #16, please. <3**

_16\. things you said with no space between us_

Lisa’s lips graze at the skin of Iris’s thighs, Iris’s fingers curl into the sheets on either side of her–this isn’t the first time they’ve come together like this, and Iris has finally admitted to herself that it won’t be the last.

She thinks about saying, “I think about you all the time.”

She thinks about saying, “You should stay the night.”

She thinks about saying, “Against all odds, Ithink I could fall in love with you.”

She says none of these things, just cries out wordlessly, calls out Lisa’s name–

It’s Lisa, sweat sticking her hair to her forehead, who collapses onto the bed next to Iris, hours later, and comments (breathlessly), “This is turning into a pattern, love.”

They’re touching, shoulder to hip, both of their chests heaving for breath, and Iris fumbles blindly for Lisa’s hand. “Quite the pattern,” she agrees, squeezes tight.

(Lisa squeezes back, and when she tries to reach for her jeans, Iris holds tight and doesn’t let her leave.)

 

**the-warm-beige-color asked: since you asked so nicely** [because I read the original prompt wrong] **, 18 lisa/cait, lisa being scared (the cait being scared one was super duper uber lovely i loved it muchly my heart ached for them <3<3)**

_18\. things you said when you were scared_

Lisa’s hands curl into fists, the motion subconscious, defensive. Her heart pounds against the inside of her ribs, and she tears her eyes away from the sight of that guy, whoever he is, leaning in towards Caitlin, winking.

(Her pulse is telling her, spelling out in violent Morse code, that she’s not good enough, that sooner or later Caitlin will realize that and pick someone whose past doesn’t include grand larceny and first degree murder.)

She forces her hands to relax, accepts the drinks from the bartender and his fake smile, and strolls back across the room. Sets down the drinks, drapes an arm over the back of Caitlin’s chair–

“Who’s the blonde?” the guy asks, surprise flitting over his face. (He recovers his composure, but not quickly enough.)

“Her girlfriend,” Lisa tells him smoothly, ignores the noise of surprise Caitlin makes, as if for whatever reason she hadn’t noticed he was hitting on her when Lisa could see it from the other side of the room.

He grins, practically leers as he asks, “So, any chance you two are interested in–”

Lisa’s right cross cuts him off.

Caitlin grabs her arm, drags her away from his groaning, prostrate form. “That wasn’t because of his leering,” she mutters, has seen Lisa tear too many men apart with words to believe she always resorts to violence.

“I didn’t like his face,” Lisa says, shrugs.

(”If you leave me, pick someone worthy of you.”)

 

**the-warm-beige-color asked: #2 patty/shawna because i came up with the ship on a whim and now i can't get it out of my head and just ugh help**

_2\. things you said through your teeth_

Patty didn’t meet Shawna in Central City.

She met her in the library, a pen tucked behind her ear, a mountain of notes spread out in front of her–Shawna wants to be a doctor, she learned, when she took the seat across from her, spread her own notes out to match, and struck up a conversation when she realized they had the same professor for different classes.

(”Have you noticed that thing that he does–”

“With the dry erase marker?”

“Yes, oh my god; I refuse to sit in the front row because sooner or later someone is losing an eye.”)

They’ve gone back to visit, Patty tentatively reaching out to Caitlin, to Iris, to Joe, remiss for how abruptly she’d left things; Shawna calling each of her own friends, wanting to see them, to brag about how she’s doing.

(”You can come, if you want,” she offers, and Patty feels a smile stretch across her face. Her own people are all busy tonight, her visit too sudden, so she won’t be seeing them until the next day.

“You want me to meet your friends?”

“Yeah. If, uh, you want to.”

“I want to.”)

Patty can feel the nerves in her chest as they walk into the bar, notes the karaoke machine on the far side of the room the way most people mark the presence of an axe murderer. A group of misfits is gathered around one of the tables, and Shawna laughs uproariously, throws her arms around the tall, slender guy who stands to greet her.

Patty feels her heart race in her chest, _knows_ the eyes gazing back curiously at her–

Leonard Snart nurses a beer that doesn’t look like it’s been touched, _Lisa_ Snart winks as she sips her whiskey, Hartley Rathaway’s gaze flicks from her shoes to her badge-less hip to her eyes, and then–

“Patty, this is Mark, my best friend,” Shawna says, voice bright, eyes brighter, presenting the man with a wave of one hand, and Patty turns on her heel and walks away.

Shawna catches her, just outside of the bar. “Patty, what the he–”

“Your _best friend_ is the man who killed my father,” Patty grinds out, can hear her teeth creak, and Shawna’s hand slips away from her wrist.

(Patty keeps walking.)

 

**the-warm-beige-color asked: #1 otp: it shouldn't be news that we're better than you**

_1\. things you said at 1 am_

Linda drops her forehead to her desk, her sides _hurting_ from how hard she’s laughing, her coffee cup nearly crumpling as her grip spasms. “I can’t believe he’s a superhero,” she whispers, to herself more than anything, but Iris hears her anyway, cackles.

“I’m told there was a pretty large amount of ‘Barry tries to change directions, runs into a very large object and hurts himself’ when he was first trying to become the Flash,” Iris informs her. “You know, if that makes you feel better about things.”

It’s nearly one in the morning, the news room quiet and empty except for them and their currently-unused laptops. Iris has been migrating closer all night; Linda likes to think that she’s more interesting than Iris’s deadline, but she suspects that Iris actually finished her story somewhere around eleven-thirty.

Still, that means Linda is more interesting than the sleep that’s been eluding them both for the last several nights, and that’s almost as good.

Linda turns to press her cheek to the desk, sets down her coffee carefully. “It helps a little,” she confesses, rests her hand on the top of Iris’s head–Iris is on the floor, back against Linda’s desk, legs stretched out in front of her.

Iris sighs, lets her head fall back against the desk with a soft thump–her eyes are closed, Linda notes.

Her heart is pounding, a little, and maybe it’s just all the caffeine, but…

“Do you wanna get dinner sometime?” she asks. The words are both a surprise and a sigh of relief.

(Finally.)

 

**BONUS:**

**the-warm-beige-color asked: #11 Q/Eve or Q/Eve/007 ft. lightweight Q (i know you reblogged this to lisasneeze but i figured this'd be alright)** [and I just noticed I read this one wrong too and did 7, but it actually works for both]

_7\. things you said while we were driving, 11. things you said when you were drunk  
_

Eve guides Q carefully into the passenger seat of the car–their long fingers are curled tightly around one of her shoulders, and she pries them loose, still so careful, so gentle. She’s buckling them in when the opposite door opens.

She snaps her head up so quickly that she nearly knocks Q under the chin, her eyes narrowing dangerously–”Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demands, and James raises an eyebrow as he continues to slide into the driver’s seat.

“Getting in the car,” he says, voice drier than the Sahara.

“You’re drunk, _and_ you don’t have the keys,” she informs him, primly, procures them from her own pocket and jingles them before his nose. (Snatches them back in close to her chest before he can dart out a hand to steal them. He leers. She’ll make him sleep on the couch tonight.)

“Fine,” he says, vaguely sour, and removes himself to the back seat.

The drive is quiet.

Q, who attempted to match James drink for drink out of morbid curiosity, is fast asleep, their head lolled against the passenger side window, breath fogging across it with each fall of their chest. James’s eyes are closed, too, his legs stretched across the whole of the backseat, but Eve suspects he isn’t asleep.

He never looks peaceful, really, but there’s normally this slackness at the corners of his mouth, one that she can’t see in the rearview.

“You should sleep,” she tells him, soft enough not to disrupt the gentle feeling of the moment.

“And miss even a second in the company of my two favorite people?” James responds, lips barely moving. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 


End file.
